Ugh his mind. So powerful.
Kenneth Coleman walked into his Art History class last Thursday evening and sat in his unassigned-assigned seat in the back, just as he always had. He sported his usual tank top and sandals, carrying nothing with him but his intellect.
The cheap ceiling lights of Art Hall illuminated his empty desk. He crossed his legs, adjusted his man bun and sat in silence, his mind most likely brimming with philosophical thoughts beyond our capacity.
Professor Frost began his lecture, flipping through slides of Italian Baroque paintings. He stopped at one painting by Michelangelo Caravaggio and turned to the class.
“What do you see in this painting? What emotions does it evoke?” Frost asked, surveying the 12 students in his 70 maximum occupancy classroom. His question hung in the air as the students turned to one another in curiosity.
“I think the use of shadows emphasizes the dichotomy of innocence and darkness,” said first-year Janessa Lange. Her response was met with nods across the room. Our source said Coleman maintained a straight face.
“The way Caravaggio uses dimensions really brings the viewer into the painting. It’s a very immersive piece, and I think it symbolizes the Counter-Reformation period,” said an unknown student in the front. Professor Frost promptly wrote the responses on the board.
“Anyone else?” asked Frost, his finger hovering above the spacebar of his laptop.
“Grandiloquent,” Coleman finally spoke.
“Could you repeat that?” asked Frost, his eyes widening.
“I said the painting is grandiloquent. No — effervescent.” His analysis was met with silent stupefaction. Our source said that the entire class turned to look at him and erupted in applause. The unknown student sitting in the front of the room even sobbed.
Professor Frost left the room for a brief moment and then came back inside, rubbing his temples.
“Wow. Thank you,” Frost finally managed to say, his voice shaking.
During the remainder of the lecture, no one raised their hand. No one tried to top Coleman’s comment — no one could.
Ten minutes before class ended, Coleman headed for the door. His Beat headphones sat awkwardly atop his man bun. Maybe it has a mind of its own.
Written by: Julietta Bisharyan — firstname.lastname@example.org
(This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)